Page 55 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

I studied the map again, as if it would provide answers, but my gaze fixated on King’s Port, my jaw tight.

“Adonis isn’t simply Fae. He’s…something else, and he can’t be…

” My fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, and I closed my eyes when the weight of the last few weeks—the last months hit me like a ton of bricks.

When was the last time I got a full night’s sleep?

Exhaustion was bone deep, but nothing I hadn’t felt before. Opening my eyes, I released the table with a sigh. “He can’t be killed without a special weapon, one that can kill anything. Until we have that, fighting is futile.”

I braced for their reaction, but they remained dead silent, still as stone other than the rapid rise and fall of their chests, their expressions unreadable.

There was a reason their expertise, and thus armies, cost a small fortune…a large fortune, and why they were still alive instead of those they faced.

It was Boyd who said, his voice laced with quiet anger, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What kind of weapon? It must be cursed, or?—”

“We don’t know yet.”

The old man met my gaze, held for it a heartbeat, then swore under his breath. “We’ll all be dead by year’s end.”

I slammed my palm on the table, pieces toppling, candles rattling. Wax spilled from one and coated Auryna’s capital. “No, General, we won’t. Not the rest of us, at least. You, on the other hand… That’s yet to be seen.”

His gaze flicked between my hand and my eyes, his expression unwavering, even as the blood drained from his face.

“Sire, I admire your optimism, I do, but a mythical weapon? You don’t even know what kind of weapon it is, so I’m assuming you don’t know where it is, either.

If our fates depend on that…that…delusion, we’re all dead. ”

My patience snapped, overridden by fatigue and burnout, and I snatched him by the throat. He released a choked sound, eyes wide, hands clawing at my hold.

We didn’t come this far for anyone to question if we would live or die, because Ara’s life was at stake.

I hovered inches from his flushed face as he sputtered soundless words, my voice lethally calm. “Did you know I’ve recently reunited with an old friend who, shockingly, has become a Puer Mortis? My old general, in fact.”

I stared, waiting for the response he couldn’t give. He managed to shake his head, the blood rising in his face highlighting the scars there.

“Funny thing about Puer Mortis, they can shift into…well, anyone. Scared me once, actually.” I stepped back to hold him at arm’s length, releasing a dry laugh as I surveyed his form.

Boyd had seen better days, or at least I hoped so, because he was an ugly bastard, as scrawny as they came, missing more than one tooth, and that damned chip on his shoulder must’ve been heavy because his spine curved under the weight, his shoulders slumped.

Had he not been born into the role as head of his familial army, he never would’ve achieved such a position. I didn’t need to see a sword in his hand to know that.

“It wouldn’t take more than a second for him to become you. Tell me, do you think your men will be able to tell the difference?”

He shook his head again, angry eyes prickling red with burst blood vessels, face turning purple.

I dropped him and my mask of calm. He fell to his knees, gasping and clutching his throat as I leaned over him.

“To say we would all die is to say Ara will die.” The words were poison on my tongue, and I spat to the side. “That will not happen. It’s not in the realm of possibility, understood?” When he didn’t immediately reply, my voice boomed. “Understood?”

“A-aye,” he managed.

I turned to the others, standing at least a foot taller than each of them. Their spines were rod straight, their expressions displaying nothing but compliance. Each head nodded once with a resounding, “Understood.”

“I may not be my father, but make no mistake, I am a Draki, a draig, and your king—and I won’t hesitate to remind you as many times as you need.”

Serra stepped forward, hand on the hilt of her sword, shoulders squared and chin high.

She was as old as Alden and the smallest of the group, her dark hair braided away from her face and brown skin wrinkled.

According to Drustan, she was the most battle-hardened, yet the only indication was the jagged scar across her mouth.

“I served under Adrastus once.” She scowled at the man still on the ground before returning her attention to me. “Once and only once, for a reason. I may not be able to use my magic in here, but I can still read people, and you, my King, are just that: a king. I trust you, Draki.”

She bowed her head, and the others followed.

I exhaled a breath and ran my hand through my hair with a low laugh. “I bought that blind loyalty.”

Serra revealed a crooked grin. “You bought service. You didn’t buy loyalty. That, sire, can only be given.”

I blinked at her. “Earned. It has to be earned, and I haven’t done nearly enough.”

“Aye,” Drustan said, “but who are we to question the wyverns of old?”

Boyd finally rose to his feet. “I meant no offense. Rather, I have a lifetime of experience in knowing fate doesn’t typically deal in luck.”

I glared at him. “I haven’t exactly spent my life blessed with luck, Boyd. I’d argue quite the opposite, yet I’m still here. That is how I know we’ll find the damned weapon. Because I don’t wait on foolish things like fate or luck.”

He started to scowl but thought better of it.

“Besides,” I said, planting my hands on the table, “That’s not the only news I come with. We have a Stirling heir.”

Serra’s brows lifted, mouth popping open. “An heir? Where? Who? How?”

“What good is another human, even a royal one?” Boyd asked, though he policed his tone.

Kaelin narrowed her eyes at him. “How have your men not rebelled against you?”

Boyd stiffened, heat returning to his ruddy cheeks, but Serra stepped between the two of them, her attention still on me.

“Who are they? And where?” she asked. “A Stirling heir could be an advantageous ally.”

“She sails to Draig Hearth as we speak.” A grin tugged at my lips. “ With her grandfather aboard.”